My Fallen Angel
by Blogger221B
Summary: John is terrified. People will continue to hit, punch and beat him until he had lost all hope of ever finding someone who he can trust. But when he meets sociopath Sherlock Holmes, he learns that love can be found in the most unlikely places. Teen!lock, Sherlock x John ;) Enjoy, and please review!
1. Chapter 1

**PREFACE**

**Title: My Fallen Angel**

**Characters: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson**

**Rating: T (Mainly because of strong language)**

**Pairings: Sherlock and John:)**

**Summary: John is terrified. People will continue to hit, punch and beat him until he had lost all hope of ever finding someone who he can trust. But when he meets sociopath Sherlock Holmes, he learns that love can be found in the most unlikely places.  
**

**Author's note: I really hope you like this, so please review. If I get enough love I will write some morexD Any criticism is also welcome. Enjoy!**

* * *

"You can't escape from us, faggot!"

And as the group of boys slowly surrounded John, all he could do was stand there, head hung, and wait for the fists to come slamming into him. Blood was already streaming from his nose and he felt light headed. This couldn't be happening. Not again.

For goodness sake, John. Don't give up now. You have to keep going.

Run, John. _Run._

* * *

"Who _is _he?"

"He's mine!"

"Pfft, you are joking, right? By the end of today I'll own him."

"Will not!"

"Will too!"

Sherlock sighed as he continued down the corridor which was already flooded with girls trying desperately to flirt with him. _Him. _Sherlock Holmes, the sociopath. Sherlock Holmes, the worlds cleverest human. Sherlock Holmes, the first consulting detective to-be. He was not going to become distracted by these petty creatures. Idiots. He continued to walk along, the crowd parting to make a path for this god to walk on. _Break is nearly over now, Sherlock. Just a couple more minutes...  
_

"You bastard!" A screaming voice came from behind. Sherlock turned just in time to see a small boy come crashing into him. Sherlock staggered back, but steadied himself. He looked down to find the boy on the floor, wide eyed, looking up at him. His blonde hair was messy and clung to his forehead, which was dripping with blood, as if his head had been bashed non-stop against a brick wall. His nose was also dripping with the red liquid. Sherlock stared down astonished, and didn't have time to react before a gang of eight boys surrounded the small one and kicked and punched him. More blood dripped onto the floor as they shouted, "Gay boy!" "Faggot!" "Dickhead!"

Sherlock's eyes narrowed. He walked towards the circle of boys and elegantly pushed two of them into the walls on either side of him. The remaining boys stopped kicking and looked up at the tall, skinny, perfect figure which had appeared in front of them. His blue eyes looked as if they could see straight though them. Sherlock casually motioned with his hand for them to step back, away from the small boy. All did so except one; the tallest of them, well built, not at all good looking but definitely scary enough, who stayed glued to the spot, scowling. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" His voice was harsh and deep, the same one that had shouted, "You bastard!" at the poor boy who was now laying limply in front of Sherlock.

"Who do you think you are." Sherlock corrected the boy. He ignored the crowd that had built around them. "No need to swear. It shows me that you're deliberately trying to sound aggressive. Probably due to a lack of confidence. You don't think you're good enough. Which is true," he added, making the stocky boy clench his fists. "And you're terrified of people hating you." A smirk spread across Sherlock's face. "Tell me, out of all the people you could possibly want to beat up, why him? He posses no threat to you. Or does he?"

Creases had formed in the boys forehead. "I don't have time for this crap."

"So he does!" Sherlock's hands clasped together in delight. "Thank you."

"What you talking about? How could I be scared of him. He's gay!" The crowd laughed at the comment, encouraging the smirking boy to shout out to the crowd. "He's gay, everybody! The runt's g-"

"Exactly."

"W-what?"

"He's gay. So what? The only reason you're publicizing this is because it'll take all the attention away from _you._" Sherlock stalked over, smiling slightly. "You put product in you're hair."

The stocky boy pulled a face. "So?"

"I'm not done. There's also the tinted eyelashes. Clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines, those tired, clubber's eyes. And then," Sherlock spoke up a little to let the flock of students hear, "there's your underwear. Visible above the waistline. _Very_ visible."

Laughter spread among the crowd. The boy, red in the face, stared up at the proud Sherlock, who bent down to his ear and whispered into it menacingly. "Next time you try to pick on someone, _gay boy_," he mocked, "just know that you'll have me to deal with _me._" He turned to the crowd, waving his hand absently in the air. "Oh, and could someone take care of the bleeding one for me?" As several girls rushed forward Sherlock Holmes marched through the gap the crowd of screeching girls had make for him to pass through and quickly stalked away.

* * *

When he could no longer hear all of the commotion, Sherlock allowed himself to slow down. The school bell rang.

God, he hated school buildings. Maths next. Where the hell was the room, M4? Sherlock sighed. It didn't matter anyway. He'd only be 'learning' something he already knew, practicing something he had already stored in his mind.

Sherlock smiled. The 'Method of Loci' that he had been focused on mastering for years was now working well. Soon he would be the cleverest of the human race... but first he would have to sit through maths. He had just noticed the M4 sign on the wall he was nearing. Sighing, he knocked aggressively on the blindingly-bright orange door. After hearing a muffled "come in," Sherlock violently knocked the door open, making the students jump. "Ah, Mr. Holmes, is it?" The teacher, an obviously boring old man with big round glasses and hardly any hair at all spoke softly. "You're half an hour late! Come in, come in. Ermm... why don't you introduce yourself to the class?" He gestured with his hands for Sherlock to step to the front.

Sherlock sighed. _No need,_ he thought. _Practically the whole school saw me at break today anyway. How could they have missed it. _Sherlock unwillingly dragged his feet towards the front of the class, and turned to stare menacingly at the group of students, who squirmed under his gaze. "The name's Sherlock Holmes."

After around ten seconds of dead silence where nobody dared speak, the old man broke it kindly. "Err... very good... ermm..."

"Sherlock."

"Yes. I am Mr...Mr..."

"Mister," the children murmured quietly.

"Ah, yes. Thank you. My name is Mr. Mister." Sherlock rolled his eyes. This had to be a joke, else this was going to be a long thirty minutes...

"Now, how about you sit with John." Sherlock followed Mr. Mister's gaze to the corner of the room where the small boy from earlier was sat. He held a stained-red tissue to his nose. His forehead was still rouge, and he held an ice pack to it with his other hand. Sherlock obediently stalked to the back of the classroom and slid into the chair next to the boy.

"Okay, so now it's time to do some algebra on your own."

The class moaned. For the rest of the lesson the teacher snored loudly on his desk, the students threw paper planes they had made from their algebra sheets. Five minutes into the lesson and Sherlock had already finished the whole sheet. John was still working on his, but had to stopped abruptly shortly after Sherlock did.

"Shit," John murmured to himself, as he put his still bleeding head in his hands and breathed heavily. Sherlock watched him carefully. Blood fell onto the desk, drop, by drop, and Sherlock could see that he was shaking. "John, are you alright?"

John quickly looked up. "What? Yeah, I'm fine!" He stared at Sherlock uneasily. "Listen, if it weren't for you I'd probably be... a lot worse off than I am now." He managed a half smile. "So thank you."

Sherlock looked surprised. "It's...fine." John smiled and looked down again, trying to hide the pain he was in. "Look, John, if you want I can-"

"I really don't need help."

"You're getting blood on your sheet."

"Oh!" John sat up. Moments later he grabbed onto the table for support and closed his eyes. Sherlock sighed as he rummaged through his bag to find a pack of tissues. He ripped one out and wiped John's forehead with it. "Oww."

"Shh." Sherlock moved John's books to his side of the desk, then he got up and sat on the desk where John's book had been to face John. He took John's head in his hands and rested it just below his rib cage, and continued to wipe the wound. John seemed to tense up. "John, are you okay?"

"John, are you okayyy?" A boy's voice mocked from behind him. He turned to find that the whole class had stopped being idiots, and were watching Sherlock and John eagerly. The boys were giggling childishly, while the girls couldn't quite pick there jaws up off the floor. John, who had gone the same shade of red as the blood on his face, fought his way out of Sherlock's tight grip and sat, gaping for air.

"Pahaha!" Another boy shouted. "Look, John's gone bright red!"

"That'll be the colour of you when the boys finish with you tomorow. They will sssskin you!"

"I hope they kill him!"

"Yeah," Sherlock heard several people agree.

John looked up at Sherlock helplessly, and then down at the floor while the classroom erupted into laughter. At that moment the bell rang, and the students ran noisily out of the classroom, jeering as they left. All was silent apart from the snoring of the teacher. After what felt like a lifetime of silence, Sherlock staring at him carefully, John slowly picked himself up and walked out of the classroom. "John." Sherlock called after him. "John!"

"Piss off, Sherlock."

"What? John, just five minutes ago you were thanking me for... oh, wait a minute." Sherlock sighed inwardly. "John, don't think you can fool me that easily."

"What?" John refused to look at Sherlock, who had caught up and was walking a step behind him.

"You're a nice boy. I'm the new kid. And so you think the best thing for me is to be as far away from you as possible. You're trying to chase me off," Sherlock stated.

"Yes, I am." John couldn't hide the pain in his voice. "Because I hate people. I want them to leave me alone."

"Hmm..." Sherlock thought. "Well, I'm not people, am I?"

John stopped dead in his tracks. "Fine, you want to hear the truth?" John turned around and looked up and Sherlock. "You're right, you're not people. You look like a bloody fallen angel!" John waited for Sherlock to punch him. When he didn't, John shouted at him as loud as he could. "See?! Any normal boy would have freaked out if I had told them that I thought they had the most amazing body I had ever laid eyes on, and yet you..."

Sherlock smirked as John went pink and hid his face in his hands again. "John, I'm flattered by you're interest, but I'm really not looking for any sort of relationship-"

"No! No. I didn't mean-"

"Good." Sherlock turned away. "I'll see you tomorrow, John. My car will be waiting outside. Oh, and I'll need your number."

"My number?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "To make sure you get home before you bleed to death."

"Oh," John blushed. He picked his phone out of his bag. "I'll save yours now-"

"I don't have time for this! Just say it!" Sherlock spat impatiently.

"077845234856"

"Right. Afternoon, John." Before John could reply Sherlock disappeared out of the doors. John was left alone and as he walked out of the school doors, he pictured the skinny, tall, dark haired boy with the beautiful blue eyes. And the perfect lips. And god, his cheekbones! John smiled. He felt happier than he had done for a long time.

_No._ John stopped himself. _No. What the hell are you thinking? You can't fall in love. You idiot._


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**

**So already this seems to be going well. I have a day off school today due to teachers striking (wooooop) so I have time to write a little more! Not much JohnLock in this chapter, it's mainly just to clear things up about the boys' history.**

**xSommerRegen and svenAsinin - Thank you both! Glad you enjoyed it, thanks for your encouragement:') Here's the next chapter...**

**Enjoy! And again, review? Criticism is always welcome.**

* * *

"How was school?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He was watching through the window of the posh black car which had been stuck in traffic for fifteen very long minutes. Looking up he could see that the sky was becoming grayer. He watched as a few drops of rain bounced off the window. Hopefully John would arrive home before a storm started.

"Are the other children nice?"

Sherlock snorted. Mycroft turned his head towards the boy, and sighed. "Tell me you didn't get into a fight again."

The boy spoke for the first time. "I didn't get into a fight again," Sherlock mimicked.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. "Is that a lie?"

"Obviously." Sherlock sat up and took his mobile out of his pocket, dialing John's number into his phone while he spoke. He had to make sure John was alright. Not that anyone would be if they had been beaten like that.

_'I hate people. I want them to leave me alone.'_

Sherlock tried to block the image of the bleeding John out of his head and continued to talk. "I would hardly call it a fight, though."

"No, neither would I," Mycroft said calmly. "But you did push two of the eight boys over."

"I'm not a baby, Myc-" Sherlock froze. He slowly looked up from his text and glared at Mycroft through his piercing blue eyes. He looked the same as usual; formal suit, hair combed neatly to the side, and a slight glimmer of make-up just below his eyes. Obviously he had been 'working' all day. Just like every other day. "You have cameras around my school?" Sherlock growled through his teeth. "You were _spying _on me!"

"I was merely making sure a repeat of the incident at your old school was not going to occur." Mycroft stared gloomily out of the window. "That boy you were defending..."

"John." Sherlock sent the text and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

"Yes. John Watson. Funny boy, you know."

"I don't know." Sherlock leaned back and hung his head, letting his hair fall over his face. This was so boring. Hopefully the car would start moving again soon. "If you've researched him you'll probably know more that I do."

"What have you deduced about him so far?"

Sherlock closed his eyes, and pictured John. "Well, he lacks confidence and doesn't think much of himself."

"No surprises there."

Sherlock shot Mycroft a menacing stare. "Shut up, Mycroft. I'm not done." Sherlock took a breath, and continued. "He's not sporty, judging by his unhealthy pale colouring, and probably suffers from nightmares. Bags under his eyes. He's got a brother who's worried about him but John won't go to him for help because he doesn't approve of him – possibly because he's an alcoholic." Mycroft stared at Sherlock. He sighed. "His parent's are basically non-existent. Probably took off leaving John and his brother behind."

"You know all this because?"

Sherlock was getting frustrated now. "_Because_ if his parents were around they would have done something about the bullying immediately. You sent me to this school because they're supposed to be incredibly strict, and yet nothing has happened to stop the gang of boys. That's the parents completely ruled out. So, John relies completely on someone, most likely his older sibling, who, very conveniently, just gave John his old phone.

"Scratches cover it. Not one, many over time. It's been in the same pocket as keys and coins. The boy I met would not treat his items like this, so it's had a previous owner. His brother, seeing as John has no friends or other relatives around. And there are tiny little scuff marks around the edge of it. Every night his brother goes to plug it in to charge but his hands are shaking. You never see those marks on a sober man's phone; never see a drunk's without them."

Sherlock went back to staring hopelessly out of the window. The rain had started to fall heavily now. "Care to fill me in on the rest?"

Mycroft sat in silence for a while before opening his mouth to speak. "You're right about nearly everything. His mother died, and his father was unable to cope with his loss and his daughter's drinking problems, so just took off-"

"Daughter?" Sherlock banged his head against the window. "Oh, god I'm stupid!"

"Yes," Mycroft continued, ignoring Sherlock's comment, "he suffers from nightmares. And obviously is lacking in confidence, as well as having trust issues. He goes to a therapist every week."

"A therapist?" Sherlock turned in confusion. "He needs a therapist?"

"Yes. Apparently his 'past experiences' haunt him."

"Okay..." Sherlock waited patiently for Mycroft to continue. He checked his phone for a message. Or a missed call. But apparently John still hadn't replied. Had he got the number right? Yes, definitely._  
_

"About a year an a half ago, when John..." Mycroft checked his book. "When John had just turned thirteen, exactly the same thing happened at a different school."

"John was bullied for being gay?"

"Correct. At the time his parents were still around, and managed to get him into another school, the school he is presently in now. According to his new-school reports he was a bit of a loner. Hard working though, and so they decided to move him up a year. Not only would he learn more, but he would be with the more 'mature' students, so he might find some friends."

Sherlock grunted in amusement. That explained a lot. Why John looked younger than the other people in their year, for a start. He must be fourteen and a half, then. _How cute_, Sherlock thought. Being one of the oldest in the year, Sherlock was fifteen, nearly sixteen now.

It also explained why John seemed fairly intelligent. And why he tried to stay away from everybody. But trust issues?

"You said he has-"

"I did." Mycroft shrugged at Sherlock, smiling. "Could it be that John has decided to trust Sherlock Holmes of all people?"

"Sherlock turned away, grinning to himself. He pulled his phone back out of his pocket to check it again. No new messages. _Come on, John._ Sherlock flopped onto the seat. This was going to be a long ride.

* * *

John sat on the bench. The incredibly wet bench. He sighed. It was better than the incredibly wet ground. Or the incredibly wet sofa at home his sister had managed to spill six whole bottles of liquor onto.

John's head had finally ceased it's bleeding, but blood still covered his face. Several times a mother had dragged their curious, pointing child past him quickly. Twice he was asked if he was alright by complete strangers. Each time he had insisted that he was fine. John had always been a great lair. He had managed to lie about his parents to all the neighbors for a year without any becoming suspicious as to why nobody ever saw them, for example, so this came fairly naturally to him.

John was alright on the outside. He really was. He had been hurt in the same way every day for as long as he could remember, so a cut, bruise or a little bit of blood didn't faze him. What did was the fact that nobody cared about it. _He_ didn't even care about being physically hurt, but surely somebody else should...

_Sherlock Holmes_. John relaxed as he remembered that gorgeous face again. The thick, dark, curly hair. The perfectly shaped lips. The cheekbones. And those bright blue eyes. He sighed contently, smiling to himself, before remembering his mobile. John carefully pulled the phone out of his bag and switched it on. He had a new message.

**_Get inside before the rain starts.  
__-SH_**_  
_

John laughed. Too late for that. He saved the number and replied hastily.

**_Im inside:)_**

Another lie, yes, but he didn't want Sherlock to worry. He wasn't bleeding anymore, and what harm would a little rain do? His phone vibrated just thirty seconds after he had put it down.

**_You liar.  
-SH_**

John was dumbfounded. He stared at the message for a while, before replying.

**_What do u mean?_**

**_You know perfectly well what I mean. Get inside, you'll catch something.  
-SH_**

**_How did u know I was lying?_**

**_Smiley face. An attempt to look sweet and innocent so I'll believe you. But you don't fool me.  
-SH_**

John laughed. Well, maybe he wasn't _that_ good at lying then. Sherlock Holmes was obviously clever. Very clever. _Smart and good looking? _John smirked. _He's bloody perfect.__  
_

**_Haha! Alright, alright. I'll try to find shelter._**

**_Try...oh, I don't know, HOME, maybe?  
-SH_**

**_Fuck you, Sherlock. Quit with the sarcasm._**

**_Is it your sister?  
-SH_**

**_Yeah_****_._**

The message slowly sunk in. He hadn't mentioned his sister at all. Had he?

**_Wait, how did you know?_**

**_Doesn't matter.  
-SH_**

Doesn't matter. John repeated the words over and over again in his head. That made no sense. Of course it mattered! If anybody else knew about his 'situation', he would be thrown out of the house. Harry, his sister, could be taken away. John might have to go live in a care home. Or with new parents. _New parents._ John's hands clenched into fists. He hung his head back, and felt the icy rain pour onto it for a few minutes. He opened his eyes as he heard a loud crack of the lightning in the distance. At that moment the phone on his leg vibrated.

**_Are you alright? Has the bleeding stopped?  
-SH_**

**_Yep._**

**_Good. Now go home, John.  
-SH_**

This time John obediently picked up his bag and dragged himself up of the bench and down the street, towards his house. Maybe Sherlock was right. Maybe stinking of alcohol was more healthy than freezing himself to death in the pouring rain.

Maybe Sherlock did care. Maybe.


End file.
